


It's About To Get Rough For You (I'm Here For Your Entertainment)

by Krissielee



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Dick Pics, I'm Sorry, M/M, Shameless Smut, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 11:24:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5625028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krissielee/pseuds/Krissielee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mistakenly-sent dick pic might be the worst--or best--thing Eggsy's ever done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's About To Get Rough For You (I'm Here For Your Entertainment)

**Author's Note:**

> The title, as usual, is all thanks to [LunarNightshade](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/lunarnightshade). She got all the title skills, didn't she? I swear I owe her all the things.
> 
> Betaed by [Knuckleblister](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/knuckleblister), who is a freakin' goddess for dealing with me.
> 
> Also, feel free to follow me on [tumblr](http://www.krissielee.tumblr.com) if you're so inclined. I'm not that interesting, though.

Eggsy admits he might be more than a little vain. But despite the bruises and scrapes, he’s always thought he had a nice body. Sure, for most of his life he was a bit underfed, but he _does_ do gymnastics and parkour to keep up his flexibility, and that stint in Royal Marine training didn’t hurt—at least, those late night meetups in the Quartermaster Sergeant’s office with various other recruits kept him confident in his appearance. 

Kingsman has only served to enhance his looks; Eggsy’s filled out and toned up, and often, he can’t help himself from snapping a picture of his own body with his phone: one with his pants half up his thighs and shirtless; another, his prick hard and leaking; a third, skin still wet and pink from a hot shower. He’s got dozens of pictures of himself, pictures in various states of undress and from different angles, because his arse is a work of art, too.

This is normal, he tells himself; after years of being told he’s worthless and fuck-ugly by Dean and his goons, he’s just taking pride in himself and reminding himself that the lot of them haven’t got a brain between them.

That’s the only excuse he can come up with, though, for why he even _had_ that picture he sent Harry of him in the shower back at HQ after a particularly gruelling mission. He was drunk, and he wanted company. He would swear down till death that he was sending Harry a picture of him offering up puppy-dog eyes and a plea to join him for drinks. Harry hadn’t shown up, though, and Eggsy resigned himself to going home alone, crawling into bed and passing out till morning.

He wakes up to a text from Harry, though, and a picture—which in itself was odd; Harry’d never sent him a picture before. Eggsy opens it, though, and—oh.

Oh.

Was that—? That’s Harry. Naked. _Hard_. Hand on a glorious, mouth-watering cock, and that eyebrow arched so perfectly as he stares at the camera. He looks like a porn star, confident and cocky.

And now Eggsy’s hard, too, wondering why the hell Harry’s sent him that, not that he doesn’t appreciate the gesture. He scrolls back to his own message and picture, figuring that might clue him in.

“Fuck me!” Eggsy groans. That wasn’t a picture of his face, not at all. That’s a picture of him bare-arsed and dripping in more ways than one, accompanied by a note asking Harry if he’s up for _a round or six_. Shit. Fuck. He’d sent his boss a dick pic _and gotten one in return_.

Eggsy must still be hungover because he can’t explain his next action with any sort of logic: he sends Harry another picture, this one of him two fingers deep in his own arse. He’d taken it a few months before, just after V-Day had settled down and he had a chance to have one off, and all those years of gymnastics had come in handy, because he was flexible as fuck—pun intended.

While he waits for a reply, he realises that Harry must have known what would happen, sending Eggsy that picture. 

Eggsy doesn’t feel bad for jerking off to it.

\--

So it goes, for months. Eggsy sends Harry pictures of himself, in every dirty position he can come up with (he’s particularly proud of the one he managed to take with the plug stretching his arsehole wide open, prick so hard it actually _hurt_ when he’d finally let himself come), and Harry responding in kind (he’d never known people outside of porn that could suck themselves off, but Harry, after all, was continually shocking him). Nothing changes at the shop or HQ; Harry is the epitome of a gentleman in public, never letting on that he’s got enough pictures of a naked Eggsy to start his own erotic website. He heaps on the praise after Eggsy successfully completes his missions, he still comes round for tea with Eggsy and Michelle and Daisy on Sunday afternoons, and he still offers Eggsy lessons in proper deportment when they’ve time for etiquette practice.

And because he never mentions it, Eggsy can’t tease him about being a dirty old man. The few dozen pictures he has in return (and age has done _nothing_ to diminish the man’s sex appeal--Eggsy’s only seen a few pictures of Harry as a young man, and he can safely say that the years have been incredibly kind to him) keep him occupied on lonely nights at home, but it’s not the same.

He wants Harry. Has always wanted Harry, if he’s honest with himself. Since the day they met and Harry got him out of gaol, beat up Dean’s muppets, gave him a chance for a better life. Having this insight into what he looks like under those bespoke suits and the perfectly-coiffed hair only adds fuel to the fire Eggsy’s tried to put out since V-Day. 

Eggsy’s not stupid, though; Harry is way out of his league despite being his boss, and sending dirty mobile pics doesn’t indicate that they’ll ever be anything more than colleagues who occasionally masturbate over each other.

At least, he hopes that’s what Harry’s doing with his pictures.

Eggsy tries to content himself with it. He’s used to not getting what he wants, ever. 

This is no different.

\--

It’s Eggsy’s third honeypot since he’d begun sending pictures to Harry when he gets the idea. He’s meeting up with a man accused of human trafficking, and Eggsy’s job is to get him to slip up: to fuck him and try to ship him off to wherever his mark is sending the rest of the people he’s kidnapped. He’s only to actually _go_ if he can’t find out more information without putting himself in that extra bit of danger.

It’s a simple idea, really: take a picture with an actual prick in him, in his mouth or his arse (he’s not picky). The bloke he’s tasked with fucking secrets out of is pretty easy on the eyes, and his cock is nothing to scoff at, either, if not enough to really make Eggsy’s mouth water like Harry’s does. When Eggsy suggests taking pictures, he’s delighted.

Not so surprisingly, a man accused of selling underaged kids to other creepy old men has no qualms about filming his fucks.

Dozens of pictures are snapped, Daan’s prick not too unimpressive and when he’s balls-deep Eggsy moans anyway, enjoying the feel of getting fucked even when it’s not the cock he wants in him.

Eggsy gets the information once Daan’s asleep, getting Merlin into his computer without breaking a sweat, and once that’s done he sneaks out, picking the best shot to send to Harry. Him on all fours, mouth wide as he looks back to the camera, Daan slowly sliding back into him … yeah, that’s the money shot. Eggsy sends it off without a thought, heading into the bathroom of his own hotel room to wash himself clean.

Except Harry doesn’t reply as quickly as usual after that. Eggsy has to admit, he was hoping to get a shot of Harry with something up his own arse. Fingers or a dildo or even someone else’s cock. 

Even if the thought of someone else inside his boss does make Eggsy feel a bit sick to his stomach.

He doesn’t send anything more to Harry; he finishes the mission, checking his phone any time he’s got a moment. The longer he goes without hearing from Harry the more Eggsy wonders if he’s really fucked up this time—sharing dick pics with his boss wasn’t an ideal situation anyway, but it was better than nothing. He’d much rather see Harry naked on a small screen than never again in any form. 

He finally gets a reply, a few days later, after he’s returned home. Not on his phone, though, no—the second he enters Harry’s office for debrief he’s slammed back against the door and there’s a tongue in his mouth, hands tugging at his shirt to get to bare skin. Eggsy’s first instinct is to fight, to push the other man away, but holy _fuck_ , he wants it. He wants Harry, and it appears Harry wants him, too.

“You little tart,” Harry breathes against Eggsy’s neck, biting sharply down and soothing it with his tongue. “You think I want to see you with anyone else?”

“I—I didn’t think you wanted more,” Eggsy admits, fingers tangling in Harry’s hair, messing it up. He’s got one leg around Harry’s thighs, bringing their bodies closer, and _oh_ , Harry’s cock feels even better pressed against his than it ever looked in pictures.

“Why did you think I was sending you those pictures?”

And, well, good point, Eggsy admits to himself, but he’s so far gone with lust he can’t really come up with any real reason. So instead he starts to unbutton Harry’s shirt, wanting everything—is the hair on Harry’s chest as soft as it looks? Is he as warm as Eggsy’s imagined? Will those hands feel as safe wrapped around him as Eggsy thinks they will?

He thanks every deity he can name that he’s going to find out as Harry drags him over to his desk, shoving reports out of the way before laying Eggsy across the surface and getting his pants down. “This is _mine_ ,” Harry breathes before taking Eggsy into his mouth, and it’s all Eggsy can do to hold on—Harry is a master cocksucker, and whether it’s from years of practice or pure skill, Eggsy doesn’t care. He takes Eggsy deep, tongue teasing his length as he sucks hard the way down, barely-there as he comes off for a moment, taking a breath. His spit-slick lips have Eggsy nearly coming right then, but he tries to think of anything at all to stop himself. He wants everything, and coming like a teen boy on his first date would ruin that. He wants this to last, and he wishes desperately he had his phone handy to document this. Otherwise, Eggsy’s not sure he won’t think he’s imagining things when he remembers this moment.

Harry’s thumbs are rubbing soft circles into his hips, fingertips digging bruises into his arse, and it’s all Eggsy can do to not thrust into that perfect mouth.

“M’yours,” Eggsy gasps out, when he knows he’s seconds from coming, his body on edge and desperate, “but—fuck, Harry—stop.” It’s too much for him. He’s going to blow his load without getting Harry inside him, and Eggsy can’t bear that thought. Harry does stop, though, and he looks confused, and maybe a little hurt. “Just want you in me,” Eggsy says, wishing he hadn’t said anything to hurt Harry. But Harry smiles, slowly undoing the buttons on Eggsy’s shirt. 

“Don’t ever make me see you with anyone else inside you again,” Harry warns, and Eggsy shivers at the low, possessive growl in the man’s voice.

“Swear,” Eggsy groans as Harry gets him naked. He’s not embarrassed or uncomfortable; Harry’s seen everything he’s got and more, so he merely wraps his arms around his thighs and bares his arse to Harry. “My arse is yours. Won’t never make you see anyone else there.”

Harry pulls away for a moment, but it’s just to unzip his fly and free his erection, and Eggsy’s mouth definitely waters when he gets a good look at Harry’s prick. He most certainly wants to get a taste of that thing later.

“Please tell me you keep lube in these drawers,” Eggsy breathes, twisting around and reaching behind him to tug the top drawer open. Harry doesn’t stop him, so Eggsy searches blindly, eyes on Harry, on the way he strokes his cock slowly and deliberately, waiting for Eggsy to triumph. And he does, of course; the bottle is small and unopened, so he struggles to get it open, fingers fumbling with the seal in his haste to get to the good stuff. Harry’s clearly trying not to laugh at Eggsy’s plight, as if it didn’t concern the well-being of his own dick, too. “Fuck, Harry,” he spits, cheeks red from embarrassment as he shoves the bottle at the man. “You do it, then.”

Of course Harry gets it open in seconds, and before Eggsy can comment or call Harry names for being a smug fucker, there’s a slick finger circling his arsehole and Eggsy forgets everything else. It slides in, teasing, deeper on each stroke and Eggsy rolls his hips, wanting more—he’d love for Harry to lose control, after so many months of foreplay, to just fuck into Eggsy so hard and deep that neither of them can walk after.

“C’mon, more,” Eggsy whines, holding up two fingers. Harry takes the hint, scissoring Eggsy open as he kisses the younger man, open-mouthed and messy, biting his lips before licking a trail down over Eggsy’s neck. There’s going to be marks there by the time Harry’s done, and Eggsy perversely hopes they won’t be covered by his shirt collar.

Then there’s a third finger inside of him, and Eggsy plants his feet on the edge of the desk to lift his arse a bit, helping Harry’s fingers find his prostate.

“Greedy,” Harry teases, but gives in, fingertips hitting Eggsy’s prostate with every thrust until the boy’s near tears he’s so close to coming and Harry just _won’t let him come_. Apparently now that he’s got Eggsy with his knees up by his ears he’s in no hurry for anything more, and Eggsy spits out a few curses until Harry takes the hint, slicking his cock with the lube and hauling Eggsy’s arse over the edge of the desk.

_Finally_ , Eggsy thinks when he feels the head of Harry’s prick pressed against him, slowly, achingly slowly pushing into him, his thumbs digging deeper into Eggsy’s hips to hold him still. There’s going to be bruises, though, from the way Eggsy squirms to get Harry deeper.

“Fuckin’ prick,” Eggsy mutters. “Do it.” Harry laughs, but does as ordered, finally bottoming out inside Eggsy, and it’s never felt so right before with anyone. Eggsy’s arms slip from his thighs, wrapping around Harry’s shoulders and pulling him down for a kiss. 

He’s still not going to last, but at least he gets to feel Harry inside him before he blows and ruins Harry’s suit.

Harry’s almost tender, despite the way his hips snap forward; he presses kisses to and whispers soft words over Eggsy’s face and neck. Eggsy’s in heaven—he never wants this to end, though, especially when Harry wraps a large hand around his own cock, stroking. It takes maybe five strokes of Harry’s hand before Eggsy comes, ruining Harry’s trousers and shirt with streaks of semen. It’s … more than a little hot, actually, and Eggsy’s prick makes a valiant effort to get hard again. But then Harry spills deep inside Eggsy, and the younger man just holds him close as they both come down.

“Where’s your phone?” Eggsy asked, minutes later, the sweat cooling on his body. Harry passes it over, and Eggsy grins, taking a few pictures of the two of them together, of Harry’s prick stretching him wide, of the come stains on Harry’s clothes and desk. “Now you got that to keep you company next time I get slated for a honeypot,” he teased. 

“You’re such an arse,” Harry murmurs fondly, taking his phone back before sliding out of Eggsy, fingers catching the sloppy mess that drips out. He offers his fingers to Eggsy, who winks and sucks on them diligently. “What makes you think I’m letting you go on any more?”

“Because I’m aces at them,” Eggsy points out, but he can’t find it in himself to complain too much. “I gotta shower,” he adds. “M’a mess now.”

Harry smiles, kissing Eggsy sweetly once more. “Come back after,” he orders quietly. “We’ve got to finish your debrief.”

Eggsy redresses, legs a bit shaky. He blows Harry a kiss as he exits the office, making his way through headquarters to the showers. Before washing the come leaking down his thighs away, though, he takes another picture, this one just for himself, as proof that he didn’t dream it. His arsehole is red and swollen, still tender, and he loves it. It’s _real_.

Maybe sending Harry that picture wouldn’t be the dumbest thing he’s ever done. 

Maybe he should save it for later, though, when he really wants to tease Harry, the next time he’s sent away on a really long mission. 

Maybe he’d get another fucking over Harry’s desk for it. 

Eggsy is already looking forward to that next time.

\--

So it goes, just as it did before, but it’s different now. The dirty pictures sent back and forth have a real purpose—nearly every night they’re both in London ends up with them blissed out in Harry’s bed, or on the train to the shop, or in the back of a Kingsman cab.

Those pictures get Eggsy through some long, lonely nights away from Harry. Missions are both easier and harder now, because while he knows someone’s waiting back home for him, they’re apart, even if they’ve never spoken about what it all means.

It’s on one such mission, when Eggsy’s been gone for two months already in Ankara, when the pictures reach a peak: with how many pictures they’re sending Eggsy’s grateful his Kingsman-issued mobile isn’t a pay-as-you-go like his personal one was.

He should have known his relief at not paying his own bill wouldn’t last when he gets a text from Merlin, one that includes Harry, too:

‘Don’t use company property for your sex games,’ is all the message says, but it’s the picture that really drives the point home.

It’s Merlin, in a kilt. And the man is _hung_. Eggsy understands what he’s getting at, though. He’s probably seen too much of Harry and Eggsy as it is.

He shoots a quick text message off to Harry. ‘Personal mobiles for the sex from now on? xx’


End file.
